i sometimes wait for words to appear...
out of the blue...
spontaneity and all that: "wonder"...
i mean... what would that look like...
if it wasn't a hidden emphasis: (colon)...
and later something in talian...
it got it, it, got it, it got it? it it:
tags galore!

as to why people complain about their past...
i know of a quote:
some people never go mad...
what horrible lives they must lead...
true cpt. ahab... or half an arab...
i like my past in that...
whatever wrong i have ever done...
i'm grieving...
the rest of it is... why do i fancy myself
a music buff over a movie boffin?
well... i like to think that my memory
is a bit of my very own:
cameo role b-movie cinema galore!
no wonder... alzheimer's and...
when all these people treat their past
as a regret...
a past is past.... and what not...
i like to ferment in the past...
as much as i once loved movies...
memory is a cinema...
never listen to the grey-area of
those paratroopers forever landing
in a cul de sac of "now"...

if you're going to toast rye bread...
you need to toast rye bed twice...
compared to toasting your standard white loaf...
rye bread requires... sometimes
the most spectacular revelation of patience...
your finger is already roving in a ***
of humos and the gherkins are are already
being bitten off: no heads to begin with...
but... whatever...

i like my past...
i have a memory bank like an elephant...
whatever i did wrong...
well: there's an iron maiden for that sort
of thing...
but i will not be told to uphold the sort of crucifix
masochism of a spectacle...
hey'zeus and je susan to boot...
rye bread...
you need to toast it twice...
if you want the crisp...
and the butter to melt into it like...
someone with a hangover attempting:
clarification bacon when... sun-tanning...

me? inspiration? i'd rather wait for a bus...
shuffle my feet in imitation
tango and scare a shadow while
catching a mouse using no amount of cheese!
that's me... secondant...
to major major: anyone not
milo minderbinder but me?
well then... quack salute and goose-stepping
a mile toward: the future a blank
with no cinema...

why forget the past when it can be such
great cinema?!
perhaps that's why i don't dream that much...
although...
the last dream i had...
i was pinching and pulling out...
splinters of wood from my right hand...
some appeared tiny at first...
later they emerged the size length and thickness
akin to legs of a table...
wooden splinters...
if these aren't dreams about teeth...
they have to be dreams about pulling
splinters from the hand...

what's next? giving birth to turds
and tapeworms?! or cackling penguins?!
what new dream?
attempting to melt a **** of butter
while rubbing it into the skin of a *******
walrus?! expecting to hear a purr?!

what is psychology? i thought that psychopathy
covered it all...
pathology of having a soul...
no... psychology counters psychopathy:
there's a second tier of thinking...
counter impulsive... conscience riddled...
chasm of: when aladdin meets the jinn...

little rubric friend of m'aye:
if... god is dead... this existence is wholly
materialistic: if god is dead
there's no need to cage the body
into a soul... and reverse...
the psychopathy of: the non-existence
of a soul... negation...
this psychology of: lost optics of 1 + 1 = 2...
the logicstics of: a soul with ****** logistics...
cage confined to a cage...

the logic confined to: a soul...
with is lent from god...
but the non-existence of god is...
also... a non-existence of the soul...
why bother then...
what then is the antonym of soul
that animates the body...
that which is unconscious is keeping
a solid heart-beat...
the functions of the liver...
i am the host... i am... while the body
is landlord...
psychology and psychopathy...
one side says: the other side simplifies
impulses... to have a soul is wrong...
psychopathy -
apathy... and to be psychopathic is
wrong "summa summarum"...

if not soul then: sigma (Σ)... we can call it that...
what coordination reprieve?
the Σ forgot the function of the liver...
when the brain demanded: knock-out drinking
habit... day in day out... 7 years and counting!
**** the liver: the brain needs a kipper!

and words sometimes do appear...
like so...
because they have themselves being circumstanced
against a blockage...
a constipation of sentencing the eyes
to staring at a blank piece of paper...
and no further avenues of coordination
the remaining 10 minutes before...
taking the pillow to a viennese waltz...
hugging... being reunited with Cain in Knox & Nod...
perhaps Abel was just a...
annoying ****-whisperer?
after all... last time i heard: Cain's ******
was driven by the fact that...
tomatoes have no blood...
cucumbers have no blood...
that Cain was a vegetarian...
some oops and some horseshoes making
their m.o.t. pass in the crux reminder of
seeking fit to trot via the cobblestone...

spoken like someone who would drive a car...
an alsatian and a sledge... yes...
a bicycle... yes...
a bus a train... yes...
a horse... yes...
but a car? do i look like a ******* h'american
whereby i drive a car: legally...
before i drink from ms. amber's ****: legally?
give me a horse and a bottle of whiskey...
i don't need mr. hamster and the traffic olympics:
for that one-once-upon-a-time "pull"...
sorry... sprain... of:
when no apple pie, warm, was handy...
the floral pattern of excess ******* had to do
"it" justice...

honestly: drink first: thirst first...
and adore the double-decker.... otherwise a nostalgia:
oh no... memory and nostalgia don't mingle...
not if memory is to be treated as a cinematic
escapade... nostalgia is not part of
the hong kong double-decker...
but... to drink prior to it being legal for you
to drive... well: no one of me
is going to be the designated taxi driver interlude
"watchman"...

from the day i started drinking,
it was a pretty ******* clear pythagorean statement...
you drink... you take the bus...
you drink... you walk...
what always eased the walking part?
it's the "deathrow mile"...
again... misnomer... the greater the meaning
of the walk... the shorter the actual distance
being walked...
blink and you might just miss it...
engage with former rage galore...
of clubbing and coming home with nothing
but regress and Greta -

i sometimes wait for words to appear.